Filed under: Apathy, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Childhood, Context, Corporate Evil, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, England, Entertainment, Football, Mediocrity, Music, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Paul, Queen, Sentimentality, Sport, World Cup
Recently I came across this photo of the old Wembley being demolished …
And while I know the new stadium is better – albeit with terrible wifi/phone signal access, which is ironic given it’s sponsored by O2 – there was something about that photo that made me sad.
Of course it’s because I’m a sentimental fart.
Because despite seeing my beloved Nottingham Forest gain promotion in the new stadium, that old one has even more significant memories for me.
Live Aid.
Seeing Queen there.
And the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert.
Not to mention Bruce Springsteen, Madonna and countless other bands and singers.
Then there’s watching Brian Clough lead Nottingham Forest out for their various cup finals.
There was something magical about that old stadium when I was growing up.
It was the pinnacle. Where World Cups and Legends were celebrated and made.
And while there were other venues around the World that could lay claim to a similar standing … this was mine. In England. In our capital. A way to reinforce that for all the Madison Square Gardens and Giant Stadiums out there, we had ours. We still mattered. A bit.
Now I should point out I’m not saying this from a xenophobic ‘ENG-GER-LAND’ perspective … I mean it more in the same way I viewed Raleigh Bikes in Nottingham.
And while we replaced Wembley with a new and improved version – which is far more than Raleigh managed to do – there’s something about that photo that still hurts.
Not because I don’t love change – because even though I’m a sentimental, old fart, I do – but maybe because the replacement feels a bit soulless. Designed to look the part without ever really demonstrating they understand what it takes to be the part. Efficiency over character. Optimisation over soul. Money over memory.
I get this is probably only felt by people of a certain age.
I get the times have changed and so Wembley is not as unique as it once was.
But what shapes our identity is often the weird, the inconvenient and the personal symbols of possibility … and somewhere along the line, we’ve been made to think these aren’t as important as efficiency and complicity. Of course the irony of this thinking is that this is the sort of shit that is keeping us down rather than lifting us up.
Or maybe that’s exactly what some people intend it to do.
Jesus, I’ve become a conspiracy theorist now. That’s all we need.
See you tomorrow. Unless the FBI pick me up before then.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Authenticity, Confidence, Culture, Emotion, Empathy, England, Environment, Football, Fulfillment, LaLaLand, Mum & Dad, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Parents, Shanghai
For reasons not worth discussing, I recently saw this …
Yes, it’s from a very, very long time ago … but it’s still a bit bizarre to see ‘Electronic Mail’ being touted like it is the cutting edge of tech.
But of course, once upon a time, it was.
A dawn of a new future with new possibilities.
Where – according to an Apple ad of the time – mail would travel at the equivalent of 670,000,000mph to anyone and anywhere in the World.
Even now, that sounds impressive … but back then, it was revolutionary.
Prior to email, if you wanted to send a card … a letter … a document or whatever, the only way was to trust the competence of the mail service.
And if you were writing to someone in another country, then it would take weeks before you had any chance of it being received.
We call it ‘snail mail’ now … but back then, it was just mail.
The reason I’m writing this is that time always creates change.
We might not like where it takes us.
We might find it hard to adapt or embrace.
We might not like the time-frame it’s working to.
But whether it’s good or bad, the thing you can be sure of is things will change.
The reason I’m saying this is because I recently read something on The Athletic.
Not only was it about my beloved Nottingham Forest, it was written by someone who is also living in NZ. That means there’s 2 of us here – which is the same amount of fans as there were when I lived in Shanghai and Los Angeles, haha.
Anyway, they wrote this:
“The past two seasons need putting in a box marked “Vintage”. It’s only so often in football fandom that circumstances gel to give you a gift like this period. Dramatic, successful, joyous but mainly the sense of togetherness and belonging. All praise to Steve for being the key man that’s made it happen and in particular the way it’s felt.
History suggests it won’t stay this way, maybe another year or two if we’re lucky, because expectations get in the way and start twisting the behaviour and attitudes of all parties. Sad but hey it’s all part of the cycle.
The positive point I’m making is that this has been as good as it gets really, outside of unexpectedly rising to the absolute top (e.g. Forest 78-80; Leicester winning the league), so let’s be sure to savour it while we’re in the moment! And hopefully the moment has another couple of years to run.”
I loved it.
Not just because that’s exactly how following Forest over these past 2 years have felt, but because life often follows a similar path.
The reality is we often never realise we’re living in a golden period of our life.
Often, we only realise it as we sense it passing us by.
And then we panic … trying desperately to hold on to something that is only partially – if we’re lucky – in our control and likely already has left the station.
Worse, we can end up putting all our effort trying to recreate something we had, rather than create what can be next.
That doesn’t mean our focus should be blindly running forward and ignoring – or not valuing – what is happening around us, but it does mean we should appreciate we can’t stop time … because as ‘electronic mail’ has shown, even the most exciting times of our life can end up becoming the most mundane.
Life is hard.
It’s not fair.
Sure, for some, it way harder than for others and effort doesn’t always translate to achievement or progress, which is cruel as fuck. But as I have got older, I’ve learnt to appreciate something my parents used to say to me when I was young.
“The more interested you are in life, the more chance you have of enjoying a good one”.
First of all, note they said ‘chance’.
No blind promises, more an attitude to life.
Secondly, when they said ‘interested’, they meant ‘invested’.
Not just in terms of being curious about what’s going on, but committing to being in it.
Trying stuff.
Exploring stuff.
Appreciating what you learn from it – good, bad or indifferent.
And finally, their version of a ‘good life’ was – as I’ve said many times – a life of fulfilment rather than contentment.
Where you go after the stuff that makes you feel alive, rather than what makes life comfortable and easy.
It’s why I adore they said ‘enjoy’ rather than ‘have’.
Not just because it acknowledged time will continually challenge and change our contexts and beliefs … but because it means you recognise, embrace and value the good moments while not letting yourself get so lost in them that you are removing yourself from the possibilities of the future.
Nottingham Forest spent too long being lost in the past.
Always judging themselves by it, which meant never being able to live up to it.
An invisible hammer continually bashing everyone down.
But Steve Cooper has changed that …
Sure, he’s not achieved a fraction of what Clough did, but apart from the fact he’s only 4 years into his managerial career, he has done stuff even Clough wasn’t able to achieve.
For example, the togetherness between fan, club and manager is – even in the eyes of ex-Clough players – better than it ever was at our European peak.
In essence, he took the values of the club to liberate the future of it … enabling a new generation of fan to take the club to somewhere new and exciting. Something that represents their future, not just a recreation of another generations past.
It’s so exciting to see it.
It’s so exciting to share it.
It’s so exciting to be a part of it.
Now I know what some of you will be thinking, I’m reframing achievement to set lower expectations. But that’s the point …
When you try and hold on to things already past, you’re stuck in limbo.
It’s why I’m revelling in what Forest are doing right now.
I know it won’t last forever, but to experience something so magical is more than I ever dared to dream.
Sure, it’s not the same as last time.
But that doesn’t mean it’s any less wonderful.
Even more so that it is happening in the present not in my memory.
When Forest won the playoff final to get back into the Premiership after 23 long and painful years, some genius played the track ‘Freed From Desire’ by Gala. It wasn’t just the perfect choice of song for us, it conveys one of the most valuable lessons for life.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, England, Football, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Paul
I know with a headline like that, you think I’m going to announce some major revelation to do with health.
Or happiness.
Well, in some ways I am … just not what you may think.
This is about football … and while it’s a good few weeks since the Premiership ended, it’s taken me this long to calm down.
As you all likely know, my beloved Nottingham Forest got promoted last year to the Premiership after 23 painful years away. More than that, they got promoted after being at the bottom of the Championship after 7 games – where they only had one point – before our manager, Steve Cooper, joined and took us on a fairytale that no one could have imagined.
Of course we knew it would be hard to compete – especially with our team being made up of 5 loan signings – which is why I convinced myself that as long as they were enjoying themselves, I’d be happy with whatever happened.
Now I know I was utterly lying to myself.
It was a tremendously hard season. We had – in the end – over 30 new players join us [which was needed given we didn’t have a proper starting 11] so it was no surprise we were whipping boys for all the teams we faced in the first few weeks.
3-0. 4-0. 5-0. 6-0.
Then we had a couple of wins.
West Ham and – amazingly – Liverpool.
We had faith. And then the bad results kept coming and the media increasingly wrote us off.
Then we had major injuries to key players that were going to last for months.
Worse, we were hearing our beloved Steve Cooper – the man who had achieved what over 20+ managers couldn’t – was going to get fired. Other managers were being sounded out. The old dark days were coming back with a vengeance.
I don’t mind admitting, I couldn’t read about the team.
Everything was bleak and negative and it actually was affecting my health.
I was getting down. Weekends were getting ruined. The feel-good factor was done.
I tried to convince myself that football just doesn’t matter.
The only positive was the Forest owners kept faith with Steve.
Sure, part of it was because they couldn’t find a better alternative, but at a time where clubs chopped and changed managers like people change their clothes – it was a little bright spot in an otherwise dark situation.
That said, I wouldn’t have blamed them if they had.
Yes we had terrible injuries but we couldn’t win an away game if we bribed the officials.
Then we had a little run of positive results and it was amazing how I felt my entire body change. Mentally and physically. I felt excited to read articles about them – and how they played – again. Sure, there were still some negative stuff, but when we reached the highs of 13th in the table [even though 13th-20th was separated by a few points] it felt good.
Then bad times came back.
Losses.
In the relegation zone.
Pundits revelling in our downfall.
But somehow we put ourselves in a position to get out and with 2 games left, we were in 16th, two places above relegation. Of course, being Forest, we only needed to slip up once and have a team below us win – and we would literally swap places with them.
Worse, if any of the teams below us ended up on the same points, we’d still go down because those early games gave us a goal difference that was one of the worst in the league.
If that wasn’t hard enough, our next game was Arsenal.
2nd in the league … and the teams around us had easier games.
Sure, if we lost it wouldn’t be 100% relegation and sure, it was at home … but given our final match was away, the chances of us pulling off a miracle were low.
But against all odds, we took the lead on 19 minutes.
The Forest ground was utter pandemonium … WE WERE WINNING … but we also knew we had the worst record of losing from a winning position and Arsenal had the best record of winning from a losing position.
But we got to half time still up … which meant we would guarantee safety which meant we would still be in the Premiership for another year.
Then the second half started.
And unlike other matches, we kept doing pretty well.
The team wanted this. They wanted to play their final game at the City Ground in a way that would honour the fans unwavering support over the past 9 months.
And to be honest, so they should … because even fans of all other teams have said what an amazing atmosphere our fans create at the City Ground.
But I’d seen us fuck up too many times so with 12 minutes to go, I went on to instagram and zoomed through reels to take my mind off things. I knew the game would be over at 6:32am NZ time and my intention was to not look till my iPad said it was that time.
Did I manage to do that?
Nope … but I did manage to last a few minutes at a time.
And then at 6:31am I couldn’t hold back any longer and flicked over to the BBC where I saw the letters FT under the score, signifying full time.
Signifying we had won. WE HAD WON.
And, in a surprise to myself, I burst into tears.
Massive tears. Tears of relief, pride, happiness, shock and calm.
What made this even more surreal was that while this was all going on, I was lying in Otis’ bed as he was in ours with a bad head cold.
So there I was a 52 year old bloke … in an 8 year olds bed … crying at a football result and that’s when I truly knew how invested I was in that team.
How they represent more than just kicking a ball around a pitch, but my identity … my cities identity … our hopes, belief and values.
I was a mix of elation and exhaustion … resulting in me spending the whole day watching interviews of the footballers and fans revelling in their joy.
Joy for defying the odds.
Joy for proving the pundits wrong.
Joy for my great club earning the chance to keep getting better.
I love them. I love them so so much …
The team. The manager. The owners. The fans. The city they represent and belong to.
As the legendary Liverpool manager – Bill Shankly – once said:
Football isn’t a matter of life and death. It’s more important than that.
He wasn’t wrong.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Anniversary, Attitude & Aptitude, Birthday, Cannes, Creativity, Culture, Dad, Daddyhood, Emotion, Family, Friendship, Holiday, Jill, Love, Martin Weigel, Metallica, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Nottingham Forest, Otis, Parents, Paul, Paula, Planners, Planning, Queen, Shelly
So let’s start with the good news …
This is my last post until the 26th June.
That’s over 2 weeks of peace and quiet!!!
You lucky people. [Though who knows if anyone reads this now comments have stopped]
The bad news is this post is going to be loooooooong. Proper long.
And possibly ‘jealousy inducing’ … or at least insult igniting, given the blagging I’ll be acknowledging.
But there are valid reasons behind it all. Honest.
First up is that I have a bunch of birthday’s to acknowledge …
First of all is mine, because on Monday, I turn 53.
FIFTY FUCKING THREE!
This means I am closer to 70 than 30 …
Normally that would be depressing as fuck, but I was recently given the best present ever when Metallica’s management said I was, “immune from maturity”.
Of course, I appreciate under normal circumstances this would be a big diss, however at my age – and when they represent genuine Rockstars – this may be the best compliment ever.
Let’s be honest, it’s going to have to be because there’s not many more reasons to be happy.
But 3 days later, it’s my darling Jill’s birthday.
Whereas I get more immature with age, she gets more wonderful.
I wish that was simply my attempt at being a romantic husband … but she really is.
I would love to detail how, but as I’ve mentioned before – she hates the attention on her, especially on this blog – so just know it makes me very happy to see because she’s the best thing that has ever happened to me and is more than I deserve.
Happy birthday my darling Jill, I hope you have a wonderful, wonderful day.
Now you may think I have suddenly become a soppy-sod – and I am OK with that – but you may feel a bit differently when I tell you that on the night of Jill’s birthday, where most people would be having a celebratory dinner – I will be waving goodbye to her, getting on a plane and flying to England because the next day it’s …
Paul’s birthday.
That’s right, for the first time since 2020, I’ll be spending Paul’s birthday with him and seeing him and Shelly for the first time in over a year.
I’m so, so happy I can do that. I’m also so excited to see them.
The older I get, the more I want to be closer to them – even though I appreciate how ironic it is to say that when I have chosen to live just about as far away from them as I possibly can.
Who knows what will happen in the future to change that [actually, I do, I just don’t know when] but I’m thrilled I’m going to get to spend Paul’s special day with him and hang out with him and Shelly for a few days.
That I get to be with 2 of my most special and treasured people on their birthday .. means that however hard 2023 is, it is going to be a great year for me.
Thank god for horrific timezone difference between NZ and UK.
Which all leads to the final journey of my blog silence …
And that is me leaving Nottingham to fly to Cannes to present on stage with 2 more special and treasured people – Paula Bloodworth and Martin Weigel.
Like Paul, the last time I saw them in person was a year ago, so to not just see them … but present with them … is an utter thrill.
I say that, but at the time of writing this post, we have only written 4 slides so unless we pull our finger out, it may be a case of being happy to see them but a total nightmare to present with them – hahaha.
And finally, as much as Cannes can drive me nuts, it gives me an opportunity to see a bunch of old friends from my past which will be bloody wonderful – especially as George and Lee will be there and so it can feel like I’ve let comments back on this blog, haha.
So there you have it.
That’s why I’m not writing any posts for a couple of weeks.
And while some of you will claim its a massive holiday, it’s actually me reconnecting to life.
That’s honestly how it feels.
I appreciate that sounds overly dramatic … after all, it’s not like I don’t talk to them all pretty much every week.
And obviously, in the case of Jill, I get to see here every single day.
I also appreciate the privilege of being able to fly over there to see the rest of them – not to mention I am the one who put myself in the position of being away from them.
But this is more than just being in their physical company – which will be special in itself – it’s about the undivided time.
No zoom time limits … or snatched moments before the next interruption … actual time.
Time to go on endless tangents.
Time to go down multiple rabbitholes.
Time to enjoy the pregnant pauses.
Time to talk shit … rather than maximise the time allocated. Or allowed.
Time to be cocooned away from the other stuff that likes to interrupt and dictate.
And while many may think they get this every day, I’m not so sure.
Yes, being physically close to people you care about does – in theory – make this easier to do.
But proximity doesn’t automatically equate to intimacy.
You have to want it. Demand it. Not be satisfied with a different version of it.
And most of the time that’s not the case …
We don’t even realise it’s happening because we get so caught up in the whirlwind of life.
Dealing with the pressures, demands, expectation and – for some – the self-importance of our own lives.
And that’s why there is something to be said about living away from those that matter.
I know … that sounds the opposite of what I’ve just written … but hang in there.
You see I used to think the benefit of living around the world was that you could discover and explore possibilities you never knew even existed … let alone were actually possible.
And it’s true.
I’m not exaggerating when I say everything I have in my life – outside of Paul and Shelley – is because I chose to explore the world rather than stay in Nottingham,.
Every. Single. Thing.
That doesn’t mean people who stay where they are from can’t also discover new possibilities, but it’s definitely going to be harder which is why I will be forever grateful for the opportunity – and my naivety – to go and explore what life was made of, despite not having the faintest idea of what I was doing.
It’s why I always tell people who have been offered the chance to live overseas that they shouldn’t let the things they’ll miss, hold them back … instead, they should think about all the things they may discover.
And I still stand by that.
But of course, missing the people you love is a big thing.
A huge thing.
I definitely missed my parents every single day and I went through a lot of emotional challenges on that journey.
But I was also extremely lucky my parents wanted me to explore.
Of course they missed me.
Of course they would have loved me to be closer.
But they wanted me to forge my own life, not be restrained by theirs, which is an act of love that still takes my breath away.
Even more so when they could have – and maybe should have – asked me to stay, given my Dad’s health situation that happened 6 weeks before I was due to leave for Australia.
I offered.
I meant it.
But they said no … and I swear it’s because they knew if I didn’t go then, I may never go at all.
That’s just so typical of my parents … always wanting the best for me while also understanding the reality of me.
And while part of this was them having faith in the values they’d taught me – for example, chase a life of fulfillment, not contentment – I think another part is they realised something I’ve only just started to discover.
Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder, it makes your relationships more present.
Greater focus, awareness and understanding on what makes you work together. The confidence to dismiss the differences that stand in the way of your connection. The willingness to be vulnerable – not just to enable greater intimacy – but to acknowledge their desire to want to help you, even if you feel they shouldn’t need to. And an openness to the uncomfortable in the knowledge, you’re not being judged … you’re reaching out.
I appreciate this all sounds like a post-rationalisation for being away from the ones I love and care about.
And maybe a bit is.
But as I’ve said before, creating space so the people who matter get the best of me rather than what is left of me is important.
It’s not easy.
It comes with challenges and sacrifices.
But while proximity keeps you near, maybe – just maybe – distance helps close the gap.
See you in a couple of weeks.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Childhood, Emotion, Empathy, Football, Leadership, Nottingham, Nottingham Forest, Resonance, Respect, Talent
One of the people who made my childhood so amazing was someone not connected in the slightest to my family.
Brian Clough.
Over the years I’ve written a lot about him.
How he led my beloved Nottingham Forest to glory no one could have ever dreamed about.
How he led the football league in terms of standards and reputation.
How he led the Nottingham through its darkest days of Margaret Thatcher.
How he’d serve me at his newsagents in West Bridgford on a Sunday morning.
How he put a city on the map again.
Hell, I even did a presentation about the management lessons you could learn from him.
He was a hero to me.
It’s because of him I travelled to the other side of the World to see Nottingham Forest get into the Premiership again. He made me love them so much. He made me feel the sadness of 23 years in the wilderness.
Now it is fair to say at the end of his management at Nottingham Forest, the effects of his alcoholism had taken hold. He was not who he had once been.
He said he drank because he got to celebrate more than most … but everyone knew. And yet, despite that, everyone still respected him.
Even at his last game at the City Ground – where we lost – the entire stadium, including the opposition fans, rose up to applaud him and shout his name.
Can you imagine that happening for anyone else?
Hell, even with his long successful reign at Forest ending in relegation, all the fans – and the TV pundits – still loved him. Still wished he could get better to stay on.
And while there are lots of stories that help explain why he was so loved, I heard two new ones recently that really showed how important character and principals go a long way in having people follow and believe in you.
The first is how he talked a man off a bridge who was planning to die by suicide.
He was driving home and saw a large group of people on Trent Bridge, congregated in a particular spot.
Rather than drive past, he pulled over – literally on the bridge – to find out what was happening.
There he found a Policeman trying to talk the man down.
From there, he took over, talking gently to the man.
Asking questions. Being interested in what he was going through. Offering to help.
At one point the topic of football came up and the man revealed to Clough he was a Notts County fan. Without missing a beat, Clough said that he liked them but he should come and see his team as they’re doing pretty well. [They’d just won the European Cup]
Eventually the man was coaxed down and the Policeman who was there nominated Clough for an award – such was his influence in bringing him down, and later he was given a certificate naming him ‘citizen of the month’ by the Police.
Clough was an enigma.
You never knew what you were going to get.
Hugely charismatic but with an ability to be ruthless and vicious.
By the same token, he was incredibly generous and compassionate.
He loved his family. He loved Peter Taylor [despite them having a huge fallout that resulted in them never talking again] and he loved helping those who needed help.
The story of how he took in 2 young brothers who were poverty stricken and in an abusive home reads almost like a soppy Hollywood story. Except it’s true.
However the other story I heard recently that revealed his generosity is from his last ever match as Forest manager.
The date is May 8, 1993, and James Scowcroft, was a youth team player for Ipswich Town.
Scowcroft would become a popular striker for them – making more than 200 appearances – but back then, however, he was 17 and yet to make his first-team debut.
This was an era when apprentices had a list of match-day chores and his was to look after the away dressing room. His job was to make sure everything was tidy and organised and he would go in five minutes before kick-off – while all the players were waiting in the tunnel – so he could get a head start making sure everything was ready for half-time.
That day, however, was different.
This is what James said:
To the end, he cared about the game and especially the youngsters entering it.
No wonder the BBC Commentator, Barry Davies, summed up that day – and Clough’s career – with this:
“Clough emerged from the tunnel and, always keeping it interesting, hugged a policewoman before taking his seat. I reported that by saying “An embrace for the law on his last home appearance. The man with the green sweater. Whatever his failings, whatever his foibles, he’s been a power of good for the game of football.”
It’s a pretty perfect summation.
Clough was flawed but he was also a genius.
Many thought he was a maverick, but there was always method to his madness.
And a big part of that method was his belief in the potential of others.
He would fight for them.
He would protect them.
He would help them.
This article from The Athletic captures so much of the great man … from his earliest days to his lasting legacy.
And it is a lasting legacy … hell, he has 3 statues of him for a start.
They say if you remember people, they’re still with us.
Well I remember him. He helped write a big part of my brilliant childhood.